


Nostalgia

by BabsBlanc



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Background Character Death, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice Spoilers, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character, Unresolved Sexual Tension, sexual content in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabsBlanc/pseuds/BabsBlanc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years have passed since the Batman has disappeared from Gotham. With his disappearance, the ghouls and miscreants of Gotham went with him. No more splash pages in the newspapers about the Joker was at it again or that Nygma has created some Clive Barker-esque metal death trap that will mangle whatever corrupted member of Gotham’s high society if Batman does not solve his riddle. No more wild chases at 2:30 AM on the constantly busy highways that usually result in live explosives being flung during your drive home or to work. No more gaping holes from the Batmobile in buildings and apartment complexes. No more organized chaos ringing out in the night.</p>
<p>Where that leaves me is up for debate.</p>
<p>Selina Kyle. Forty-five years old. Socialite. Educator. Formerly known as Catwoman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers if you have not seen Batman v Superman. Fic is a fusion of DCEU canon and Pre/Post-Crisis DCU. In case there is some confusion about some cultural references, Selina Kyle is Afro-Cuban in this fic.

Twenty years have passed since the Batman has disappeared from Gotham. With his disappearance, the ghouls and miscreants of Gotham went with him. No more splash pages in the newspapers about the Joker was at it again or that Nygma has created some Clive Barker-esque metal death trap that will mangle whatever corrupted member of Gotham’s high society if Batman does not solve his riddle. No more wild chases at 2:30 AM on the constantly busy highways that usually result in live explosives being flung during your drive home or to work. No more gaping holes from the Batmobile in buildings and apartment complexes. No more organized chaos ringing out in the night.

With all of this disappearing into the loud sounds of Gotham, the city almost seemed normal. Quiet almost. Crime still went on as it would in any urbanized city, but the brand of crime that me and Batsy were used to was gone. Joker had gone from obsessing over Batman to abusing a poor psychiatrist he was assigned to during his classically short stays at Arkham. Heard he molded her into something twisted. Poor girl. Croc was sent away a long time ago and he’s been in the same place, surprisingly. Nygma was AWOL. Ivy finally succumbed to the call of nature and is somewhere committing ecoterrorism in either Central America or Micronesia, sources differ. The other regulars managed to successfully rehabilitate themselves or fall off the face of the earth.

Where that leaves me is up for debate.

Selina Kyle. Forty-five years old. Socialite. Educator. Formerly known as Catwoman.

My exit from Gotham was around my 32nd birthday. I was still skulking around Gotham in that costume of mine, trying to see if anything was going to pop off on an unusually chilly, late April evening. I noticed that the city had an air of uneasiness in the air. An aura or something bad was going to happen, not to me exactly, but someone else. My maternal grandmother always talked about the women of our family having a natch in sensing something bad was gonna happen, but abuela also said we also attract the evil eye as well. If the leather molded ears on my hood could move, they would’ve been twitching with every slight breeze. I didn’t hear the familiar arguing and screaming of a dirty pimp yelling at his workers why the fuck was he 30 bucks short in the sordid streets of East End. Nor did I hear the many ways to say the word asshole in about four different languages in the heart of Midtown.

Lady Gotham and all her children were silent.

I almost contemplated in stealing some cheap bauble from a local computer store to see if the Bats would appear out of the shadows to reprimand me, but the feeling passed as I felt my stomach drop as I saw the words, “ **ROBIN DEAD - BOY WONDER FOUND BEATEN IN SARAJEVO EXPLOSION** ,” crawl around the news ticker of the Gotham Metro building. The bright red letters fall into the pit of my stomach as bile rises from my mouth. I quickly move away from the gargoyle I was perched at to vomit the remnants of the expensive dinner I had earlier. Trying to regain my balance, all I could see as I shut my eyes close were the words: Robin dead.

Who could kill a child? What monster did this to him?

What was Batman going to do now? What was  _Bruce_ going to do?

I snatched my goggles off as I felt my eyes burn with tears. The mixture of mascara, eyeliner, and tears began to streak as I mourn for a child I only knew from his loud mouth and reckless behavior. I did not just mourn for him, but I mourned for Bruce. The man I only knew behind a mask. I felt the tears come down hard when I realized that Bruce lost his ward and not just a sidekick. Jason was his name. I had to remind myself in the midst of this crying jag that this child was not a colorful mascot in a green, yellow, and red costume, but a child who was beaten to death by a monster.

Later on, I would learn that the Joker had done it. I think Holly had told me, but the memory seems fuzzy now. Bruce had completely disappeared after Jason’s death; the way the papers said Jason Todd the boy died was from a car accident by a drunk driver who got away. It seemed so morbid to me at the time, but as I got older, I understood why Bruce gave Jason two deaths. I had to rationalize that he could not afford the media frenzy that would come with not only telling the world that he was Batman, but he lost his partner as well. It was for Jason’s sake.

I wanted to see him, but I realized that what would happen would have not been healthy for the both of us. When we were together, the attraction we felt for each was sexual and raw in nature. If I would’ve went to Wayne Manor, the short speech I had practiced would have fallen on deaf ears as I know Bruce would have used me to drown out his pain. I couldn’t live with myself if I did that.

I ended up leaving a bouquet of lilies on the step of Wayne Manor with a note attached to it: “I hope you find solace. Please take care of yourself. - Selina.” That was the last thing I spoke to Bruce or anyone in Gotham before I left.

I had celebrated my 32nd birthday alone on a taxi to Gotham International Airport. I was catching a plane to somewhere. I didn’t exactly know where I was going, but I knew I couldn’t stay here. I kept my promise to Holly that I was not coming back. I made sure she was taken care of financially, but other than that, our contact was limited to phone calls and emails. I gave her my blessings to become Catwoman, a position she would hold until further notice. Thirteen years of roaming around, teaching at several universities, and regaining a sense of self that was not connected to that city. I had went natural during my self imposed exile. My hair was longer and the curls were a variety of big and loose to small and tight. Age had taken hold of my hair and now I have a skunk stripe. My svelte figure from running the buildings of Gotham had transformed into a soft womanly body. The once unusually large hips of mine now fit perfectly on my body. My breasts had grown significantly from my newly gained weight. Long gone were the designer, form-fitting dresses that were always too short on me and the bold heels that I used to stomp the ground with. I had to groan through the idea of actually wearing grown-up clothes, but I adapted as I always do. Time away from Gotham did me well. Or so I thought.


	2. Bargaining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for Batman v Superman. Apologies in advanced to those who actually attended University of Pittsburgh.

Even after I left Gotham behind for the comfortable suburbs of Franklin Park, Pennsylvania, I still felt myself longing for the exciting sex life I once had. Being a visiting professor should bring new excitement with each new city and state, but it doesn't help when your dating pool consists of old, balding white men or cocky associate professors who REALLY want to tell me about that paper they wrote on the nuance of whatever Woody Allen movie that was currently getting their dick hard. They always slide in that an older woman such as myself should understand a known pedophile's approach to maturing women.

Sex was a weapon I used very well in Gotham, but here in my tiny cubicle at the University of Pittsburgh, sex was just an embarrassing conversation I overhear my student workers talk about.

It was lunchtime and I knew it was almost time for me to teach my 2:30 class because I could hear the excited squeals of Blakely and Stormie, the desk workers for the evening shift, from the hallway. They’re good girls. Good students. However, I can write a book on the number of times they've fallen out over something completely irrelevant.

I slip my patent leather sandals on, wincing as the faux leather pinches between my toes. Step one of my new life: cheap shoes. Can't be seen speed walking to my classes in the latest Saint Laurent or Alexander Wang. Now, that I have squeezed my poor feet into those cheap death traps, it was time to do my daily mantra of ‘I will not lose my cool if a constructive discussion on today's social issues turns into the why am I being blamed’ hour by my lovely male students. Perks of teaching an intro sociology course.

I finally get up to gather my things that were still neatly stacked on the hot seat -- a metal chair that was meant for students when they come for advising, personal crises, and pleading for mercy come finals week. As I was bent over, trying to take out books and papers that needed to be graded out of my messenger bag, I felt a pair of eyes staring at me.

I knew it was that little creep.

"Now, Joe, what have I said about ogling me," I said, casually without looking up from what I was doing. They didn't say I had catlike reflexes for nothing.

Joe, or better known as Dr. Joseph F. Burns III, nearly jumped out of his awful pastel blue chambray sports jacket. He nervously chuckled, "G-great hearing, Dr. De la Cova! You must have some eyes in the back of your head, huh?" Mother would have died happy if she knew I finally went by her maiden name and not Dad's. Selina de la Cova sounds aggressively Cuban, doesn't it?

Readjusting the strap on my bag across my breasts before I turned around because I refuse to give that little boy even more spank bank material, I dryly said, "What brings you to my neck of the woods, Joe? Can't be our riveting biannual talks about the matters of sociology in media." 

He readjusts his Grey Ghost bowtie and clears his throat, voice cracking as soon as he got the first syllable out, "Due to that metahumans accident that happened in Metropolis about a year ago, we've been forced to relocate our sociology conference _again_."

The first time was about four years ago when Superman first burst onto the scene and pretty much wiped out Metropolis. Oh, and it rocking the whole Eastern Seaboard as well. We were feeling the shockwaves of that all the way over here, surprisingly. This second incident, however, brought out You Know Who. Lord, I didn't know You Know Who was still able to even fight crime, but "Bat Brand of Justice" was the hottest trending topic next to Superman's death last year so middle aged be damned apparently.

I notice that I was seeing Joe was flapping his lips but no words were coming out so I have clearly zoned out. To save face, I quickly blurt out, "Where exactly is the conference being relocated to?" Eyebrows scrunched to sell that I was thinking hard about what was said.

Joe smiles, "Gotham."

Insert dramatic music stinger from an old telenovela here. Insert the loud thumping sound effects of a beating heart here. Insert a fucking ten pile car crash right here. Gotham. Gotham, a place where I'm pretty sure people who once knew me are still around. Gotham, the place I ran away from thirteen years ago. Gotham, the place where baby Selina ran around with her terrible Halle Barry pixie cut. Gotham, the place where Bruce Wayne has risen from the ashes and is now skulking around Gotham once again.

I swallowed the lump that was currently residing in the middle of my throat and squeaked out, "Gotham....That's a name I haven't heard in a while." _Quick, Selina. Think of an escape plan,_ I thought to myself. Thankfully, I feel the familiar, annoying vibration of my phone’s alarm, signaling that I had about 20 minutes to get to my class. I continued, sounding more confidently than I did a moment ago, "Well, it's almost time for my next class. I'll email you later about the details, OK?"

I didn't even hear his reply. By the time I said OK, I had almost jogged passed him despite my feet still killing me in these cheap ass sandals. I had to switch my brain back into teacher mode while I was powerwalking to the fifth floor of the humanities building.

After receiving that news, my whole day was a blur. I remember that there was an argument over the morality of joining the military and what imperialism does to your average civilian after serving in the military. I do not remember intervening when the argument got loud. No, I remember saying something along the lines of let's move on to the next topic. I don't remember a lot from that class, but I do remember the confused faces of my students as they murmur to themselves that I look completely out of it.

It's not every day when someone not only reminds you of the city you ran away from, but you have to go there because of networking and presenting a paper you’ve been writing for the past six months.

As soon as I made it back to my apartment, the tightness of my clothes had become unbearable as I attempted to bend over to slide those hellish sandals off. The skirt I was wearing was getting unbearably tight so it was shucked off in the middle of my living room. I unbuttoned the first two buttons of my blouse as I gingerly walk to my bedroom -- shitty sandals in hand -- to examine what the hell did I have in my closet for my sudden return to Gotham. The sandals were quickly tossed into my growing pile of shoes to give away to the local Goodwill.

I switched the light on in my walk in closet and I was magically hoping that my closet would look like the one of my youth. I was hoping to see the loud silk Versace shirts, the puffy Tommy Hilfiger jackets, the tartan plaid blazer and matching skirt set from Vivienne Westwood, and just about everything you will find on an aspiring fashion designer's moodboard. Now, I just see the sensible shoes, dresses, skirts and blazers of my forties. Late forties. God, I'm close to the crypt.

It's rather pathetic that I'm a grown woman sitting pantsless in the middle of her closet, contemplating whether should I write an email back to Joe about going on this trip.

Should I go back there?

I ran away from a city I once thrived in. Arguably ruled, once upon a time. I have become so used to just witnessing the limits of human cruelty on a TV screen or a text alert; I had forgotten that I was once part of the cruelty. Though I don't have that beaten, dry-rotted leather outfit to remind me of what I was before I became Selina de la Cova, I could not erase that black mark on my soul.

I could not return to that city where I saw children being dangled as bait, women being abused by evil bastards so they could support themselves or others, and to witness the streets being flooded with people who lacked hearts and human compassion dressed in colorful costumes to call the Bat down from his ledge.

As I began shifting through those memories, tears were falling. _When was the last time I cried_ , I thought, _When was the last time I allowed myself to be vulnerable?_


	3. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Selina makes her decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holly Robinson is a trans lesbian in this fanfiction, in case there is some confusion.

_Vrrrr, vrrrr, vrrrr...._  
  
_Don't tell me I fell asleep on this floor._ Uncurling my tired legs from my chest, I opened my make-up encrusted eyes to see that I did, indeed, fall asleep in this terribly lit walk-in closet. As my ears began to turn back on, I heard my phone vibrating on the kitchen island.  
  
It must be 9. It must be that time of the month: Holly's bimonthly call.  
  
I slowly got up from the floor, feeling all of my age as my knees creak as I try to stand. The vibration stopped briefly, but started up again as I leaned on the door frame of my closet. Why do I do this to myself when I know that BenGay is my closest friend these days?  
  
As I stumbled through the dark to the kitchen, I grumbled to myself, "Yes, Holly, I'm coming...."  
  
The kitchen was dark with the sole exception of my smartphone that was displaying a smiley picture of a young woman with chopped orange (not like a ginger's orange) hair with bright green eyes, wearing a sundress that was a little big on her. Holly Robinson: former denizen of East End, lesbian, my former sidekick, and the current Catwoman. Also currently the thorn in my ass with all her excessive calling.  
  
I finally stumbled to the island and grabbed my phone. As soon as I unlocked it, I heard that familiar squeaky vocal fry: "Selina, omigod, you took so long to answer!"  
  
I sigh, "Good evening to you too, Holly..."  
  
"... Don't tell me you had one of those 'oh my God, I'm in my 40s and I'm not partying like it's 1996' moments," she replies dryly. A good thousand miles away and the girl can still smell my breakdowns.  
  
"Have you taken your hormones," I asked, and hoped that she would forget.  
  
"Yes, I have. Don't dodge my question."  
  
Damnit.  
  
"Would you get off my back if I say yes?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Smooth, Selina. Having to admit to your former plucky assistant that you're having a mid-life AND personal crisis.  
  
My sigh bounces off Holly's receiver and finally, I fix my lips to finally spill my guts that yes, I, Selina de la Cova (née Kyle) is scared shitless at the thought of coming back to Gotham. The words seem to spill out, "You know I hate it when you're right. Yeah, I did have my yearly crisis and no, I wasn't longing for the days I could wear a size 2. It's... different."  
  
I can hear her scoffing. Of course.  She quickly returned with, "How different are we talking? You ran out of decent looking sex buddies? Or are your students collectively rebelling against you?"  
  
"How about going back to Gotham?"  
  
As soon as the word Gotham was uttered, we both went silent. The persistent and annoying nail filing that Holly was doing had stopped. I had stopped drumming my fingers on the island. The silence between the two of us was almost palpable.  
  
You could almost hear the incredulousness in Holly's voice when she stumbled out with a jumble string of words and syllables, "W-why are you coming back up here?"  
  
I felt the uneasiness in her voice and I could not blame her for that. I scoffed, "Stupid conference has me going up there, can you believe?"  
  
Holly shifted the phone in her hands, causing the receiver to pick up every move she made and I even heard her mutter ‘fucking hell’.  
  
The words slowly started rolling as Holly said, "You know he's back."  
  
He. Sounds like we're talking about some great enemy that will doom is all if we speak his name. Or Voldemort.  
  
"Yeah, he was all over the news. Seems like he changed his costume again," I said absentmindedly, fiddling with some misplaced things on my spice rack.  
  
"Yeah, because he's getting bigger than a tank," she laughs.  
  
Suddenly, my mouth went dry and something stirred in me that I haven't felt in years. At that moment, I was 25 again and the idea of Bruce Wayne shook me to my core.  
  
Holly notices the silence and starts cackling. She only does that when I've made a fool out of myself. "I see that tall, dark and broody still revs your engine after all these years," she says in the middle of her laughing.  
  
"Shut up," I bark, trying to act like my legs aren't turning into noodles as we speak.  
  
"You're so transparent, Selina. Well, I see your man every single night as I go on my patrols. Whenever he runs into to me, he's half expecting you to be under the cowl. It's almost romantic. Creepy for me, but romantic for you."  
  
"...He does?" Wow, how desperate do I sound?  
  
"Yes, woman. Anyways, are you ready to come back to this hellhole of a city?" she finally asks.  
  
My heart starts beating irregularly. Deep down, I know that there should be this big grandiose speech about how Gotham was once a part of my life that I have left behind and say that this is my life now. I felt like I should be saying the word "no", but the word isn't escaping my lips.  
  
Finally I said it out loud, "Yes. Believe it or not, yes."  
  
Holly sighs, "You can have the girl leave Gotham for twenty years and she still wants to come back. You're truly a piece of work, lady."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Tell Karon I love her and that I'll see you both in a few weeks," I yawned, heart still beating like mad as I struggle through my body signaling it's time to take my ass to bed.  
  
"Alright. Love ya, 'Lina."  
  
That's a nickname I haven't heard in a while.  
  
"Love you too, Holly."  
  
After we hung up, the room felt warm to me. The warmth that isn't associated with heat, but of memories. My body was still in shock as I realize what I had done, but I knew it wasn't finalized. Not yet.  
  
Before I went to bed, I sent Joe a long email filled with falsified pleasantries and excitement over this trip to Gotham. I even lied when I said that this would be my first time going to Gotham. My fingers started twitching as soon as I typed that lie.  
  
All I remember before I went to bed was typing the words "Bruce Wayne now" into Google and feeling that stirring inside me as I saw a picture of a man who was not the same brazen young man that I remember, but a hardened soul who had seen pain. I remember sleepily rubbing the screen with my thumb while I whispered promises of our reunion. I think I dreamed of him that night. I didn't know I missed him that much.


	4. Twenty-One Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the clock begins.

Three weeks.

In three weeks, I would be back in Gotham to present a paper on how the rise of the metahumans caused a rise in people becoming more disillusioned with the structure of modern religion and more willing to simply write down Superman as their religion. Heavy stuff, huh? Did a lot of research on it. Took a small sabbatical to do more field research and have a few chats with top religious scholars. All I can say from the experience is that it took me to some fascinating places around the country and the people I met were truly some characters.

However, I wasn't so much focused on my paper than I was focused on what the hell was I going to be doing when I got back. Of course, visiting Karon and Holly was on the top of the list because I know I would get many melodramatic texts from Holly going that I don't love her or something. How Karon has been married to that girl for four years is still a mystery.

As much as I want to put on my hardass facade, I know I'll melt into a big puddle of emotions when I feel one of Holly's signatures tackle hugs. I knew that feeling Holly's tiny frame clinging to me would mean that I'm home. Well, if you use the word "home" loosely.

Returning to Gotham for even just a long weekend was going to be a draining task for me. Thirteen years ago, I vowed that I would never return to the city that made me the woman I was. I swore to myself that I would not allow myself to be consumed by the ugliness and hatred of that city. I kept that promise for as long as I could, but now, I have to go back.

What will going back do to me, I thought.

Suddenly, the sound of rushing water began to ring in my ears along with thick steam starting to suffocate me. I snapped back to reality to see that my sink was running on full force and steam had covered my bathroom.

_Great, having a moment of crisis while brushing my teeth,_ I thought bitterly.

I quickly open the door to let the steam out, coughing all the while. Once again, my age is showing if some steam can knock me out this easily.

As I quickly wipe off my mirror, I see the evidence of my rough night of sleep. My eyes were puffy with heavy bags underneath, my curls were looking frazzled and not in a good way, and my lips were cracked from the lipstick I had on yesterday. I rubbed my face, gently caressing my smile lines and examining the small winkles around the corners of my eyes.

“Girl, we got a lot of work to do,” I said to myself.

My beautification process was almost like Cinderella’s pumpkin turning into a beautiful carriage: Those bags? Concealer and glasses. Face? A nice light contour and just a touch of highlighter on my cheekbones to give me that radiant glow. Lips? A nice organic lip scrub removes the now crusted lipstick and dead skin. No lipstick today. Just tinted lip balm. Hair? Well, since I didn’t twist my hair last night, a messy bun would suffice.

With a few final touches made and a silk headband on, I was ready for whatever the day would bring me.

 

I had to make it another three weeks without thinking about Gotham. About Bruce. _Dammit._

The day went well. The office was awfully quiet. Not that many appointments were made and professors were too busy making midterms to fill the small area with meaningless chatter. Also, it could be because Blakely and Stormie were civil to each other today. They were chatting lively about the concert they were planning to go to and proudly saying that they didn’t need boys to have a good time. I give it all a few days. Something is bound to come up between those two.

The quiet and sedate pace helped me focus on work that needed to be done. I got most of the tests and quizzes I had given over the past two weeks graded and put into the hellish Excel sheet that was masquerading as the grade book.

The boring NPR report that I was listening to started to slowly fade as I felt myself minimizing the work I was doing to open up my internet browser to repeat what I did before I went to bed. This time I was not so interested in looking at pictures of him, but what was the “news” surrounding him like.

The news section of his Google results were boring to begin with. Simple proceedings of what company was merging with Wayne Enterprises this time, a scare piece about how Bruce is letting his board kill his company, and just your standard business news. However, it did not take long to get to the trash.

As I scroll through the obviously fabricated stories, I’m realizing that some things will never change.

Beautiful models saying that they’re pregnant with his child and that they’re getting married shortly after the baby’s birth. Bruce has a whole division of minions dedicated to dispelling those rumors. That’s been that way even when I was in Gotham which is weird considering that it was very hard to inform the gossip hounds back in those days. However, we did have good old Gossip Gerty back in those days; she used to ALWAYS say that she was a friend of Bruce’s and Bruce would quickly whisper to me that he was only being formal for the sake of the cameras.

I see many article over some young gay model saying that they’re dating Bruce and the coinciding shock title: IS BRUCE WAYNE GAY??? Close. Bisexual. Not gay. Bruce and I never seemed to get around to the whole coming out thing.

As I kept sinking deeper and deeper into the gossip hole, a smile began to creep across my lips because I remember those days of being the mysterious girl that Bruce Wayne was caught cuddling with. The camera flashes of the paparazzi, the rapid-fire questions that they were asking me as they tried to get that money making picture, and Bruce’s hand gripping my hand as he pushes me into his limo before driving to wherever we deemed a safe place that night.

It was romantic. It was every girl’s dream of being whisked off to a quiet, far away place with Bruce Wayne. And I was living it.

Once again, amazing with the desperation, Selina.

Suddenly, I heard a knock at my door and it was Joe once again. However, this time he was wearing a polo shirt and some abhorrent salmon colored shorts with loafers but no socks. Ah, the joys of Casual Friday: being visually assaulted by the poor fashion choices of the white men I worked with. Despite all of that, Joe had a very thick looking manila folder in his hands and a far too eager grin on his face.

He gingerly closes the door behind him as I take my earphones out and turn around in my chair to face him. He looks like he’s been shocked by something when I turn around and quickly blurts out, “Were you in the middle of something because if you were, I could just leave this for you --”

I interrupted him, “No, you’re not bothering me. I was just listening to the news and getting some grades put in. Please have a seat.”

He seems almost excited that I wasn’t too terribly bitchy today as he sits in the hot seat, dragging the chair closer to my desk as he flops the large packet on my desk.

Surely this couldn’t be the details for the trip to Gotham.

He smiles at me and with that, his motor mouth began, “So, Selina -- if it’s OK to call you Selina -- I bring you offerings! I know you were surprised when I walked In with this and trust me, you’re not the only presenter that was blown away by this. This behemoth here is your ticket to fun in Gotham!”

Fun. That’s one word for it.

He starts taking out large stacks of paper out of the envelope and handing them to me. Most of it wasn’t even paperwork, but tourism information and agreements to sign for particular tours.

I just look at these glossy pamphlets and see the difference thirteen years can make. Once again, I had to put on the facade of curiosity and not one of longing as Joe kept on with his speech.

“So, what you have in your hands here is what we’re gonna be doing after the conference ends. It’s not gonna be all stuffy and academic-y the _whole_ time. We are gonna have some fun,” he happily exclaims.

I give him a fake smile as I interrupted him one more time. “So, what does it mean that we’re going to a banquet on our second night? Surely, whoever is sponsoring this isn’t trying to impress us with cheap shrimp cocktails and subpar drinks,” I said with a sneer.

_Oh no._ Joe looked like he was practically buzzing to answer my question. _Oh, don’t let it be true._ With his chest puffed out almost, he chatters on, “Oh no, it’s not the Metropolis Sociological Society sponsoring it. They don’t have the money to even host a pizza party nevertheless have a banquet at the Gotham Met. Just guess who it’s being sponsored by!”

_Please don’t make me._ “Uh, by Ray Palmer?”

“No, he’s STEM!”

“By what’s left of Lex Luthor’s company?”

“Nope.”

I know what he’s going to say. I just know it. Why am I even stalling for time? I swallowed, “W-who then?”

“Get this: Bruce Wayne! Like, the guy decided to foot the bill for the whole conference and other events that were supposed to be going on in Metropolis so he decided to throw us a banquet in our honor!”

_Fuck_. _Fuck me gently with a chainsaw._

How to pretend like you don’t know who the hell Bruce Wayne is when you have been with him intimately in both the Biblical and emotional sense is not an easy task.

The lump in my throat finally went down as I stammered, “O-oh, that blowhard?! W-when did Bruce Wayne somehow get interested in an academic conference?” _Seriously, when did he?_

Joe laughed, “Well, he felt in the kindness of his heart and the deepest parts of his pockets that little guys like us shouldn’t have to postpone our events all the way into the next year so he and a few other Gotham fat cats are footing the bill for our relocation.”

_So he feels guilty of what he did in Metropolis, huh?_

_“_ How nice,” I said dryly.

Joe almost seemed amazed by my reaction. I supposed that even today women still lose their minds over Bruce Wayne. I, for one, will remain unfazed. Well, that is a bit of a lie, but let’s continue.

“You know, you’re the third woman I’ve told that to and you didn’t start screaming or jumping up and down,” he chuckles.

Once again, how am I supposed to react to this when I know the man in ways that most of these women dream about?

I straightened up in my chair and started to sign the paperwork in front of me. “Why should I get all riled up over some aging playboy,” I muttered, noticing that my signature has gotten sloppier and sloppier with each turning page.

“Ah, well, that’s all I have for you today. Just make sure you turn this in to HR so it can go through the bureaucratic process that our lovely Ms. McGhee has to go through for us. Oh, and make sure you book your flight! The flight number is on one of those papers,” Joe said, slowly getting out of his chair and almost taking his precious time to leave.

Without even looking up, I know what he was doing. He was doing his cool guy routine of lingering around after announcing he’s leaving in hopes of me giving him a warm farewell. I don’t even remember giving him the cold “goodbye Joseph” that I always gave him. All I remember was flipping through the small mountain of papers I was given and I saw that name twice.

Courtesy of Bruce Wayne.

Mr. Wayne will join us for a special dinner after blah blah.

What is going to happen when we lock eyes again after all these years?

Would he remember me?

Were our costumed trysts just the work of lonely freaks who thought they could save that hellhole of a city from its denizens?

Will there be a change between us?

My head was becoming foggy. I was feeling myself getting carried away over him. I should not be feeling like this. I’ve moved on. I somehow have abstained from my cat burgler ways after all these years. I’m legit. I’m not Selina Kyle anymore. The faker. The jill of all trades. The _Cat_. I’m Selina de la Cova. Professor. Consumer of natural hair care videos. _Normal._

Why the hell am I desiring that danger again?


	5. Celoso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourteen days left and the feelings are returning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celoso is jealous in Spanish.

It was fourteen days before the conference and I felt like I had regained some sense of balance now. I had stopped spending my work-days diagramming how I would approach him whenever we would meet again. I had told myself that I would just give him a simple hello and goodbye and end that chapter of my life once and for all.

However, there still was the matter of how was I going to keep up the charade with a group of people completely in the dark of my relationship with Bruce. That was going to be the hard part: surviving a long trip, pretending to be as oblivious as I can be.

To say that most of the women going on the trip were quite surprised when I said that I did not know Bruce Wayne is an understatement.

Oh man, why did I announce that out loud to a lounge full of women I’m going to spend a four-day trip with?

“Omigod, Selina! What rock have you been living under for the past twenty years?” Ms. Marylou Travers said in complete and utter disbelief. Marylou was a country mouse. Family was from some podunk part of Middle Tennessee, but she managed to beat all the odds by becoming a social worker first then, later, an associate professor. Marylou is sweet as she can be, but boy did that uber-Christian background make her boy crazy.

A perfectly manicured hand adorned with chunky rings and bracelets comically tried to cover Marylou’s quick mouth. Of course, Marylou made one of her signature squeaky sounds of indignation as she looked up to see long curled dreadlocks and a toothy smile looking down on her.

Dr. Ayomide Outlaw thumps Marylou on her nose and laughs, “Sweet Mary, you need to be a _little_ louder to announce the world about how much Dr. de la Cova here is a Mennonite for not knowing Mr. Makes-Far-Too-Much-Money-for-His-Own-Good.”

“’Mide, I was _not_ being loud,” Marylou says indignantly.

“I’m pretty sure my family heard you all the way in Lagos,” Ayomide snickers.

Ayomide and her wonderful sense of humor hales all the way from Lagos, Nigeria and Atlanta, Georgia. Her family immigrated here when she was about ten, but she always went back to Lagos for summer vacations and during the holiday seasons, she told me before. Her 90s superhero surname is not her family’s, but her beloved husband, Monty. Ayomide is the only other black woman besides me so we have become close throughout the years. I feel like she would be the best one to tell about my _situation_.

Marylou continues, “I mean, it’s just really hard to believe that you don’t know who Bruce Wayne is! Like, he’s one of the most eligible bachelors still out there and he’s almost always doing something with some uppity model type.”

Dr. Iris Abe glanced up the Gotham Gazette that she managed to read during all this rigamarole to give Marylou one of her patented ice queen death stares before continuing reading the business section. Iris was a woman of few words. If she did say a few words, the words were: a) biting as fuck; b) possibly something in Japanese or German that translates closely into idiot; and/or c) probably something that pops Marylou’s bubble.

Suddenly, she let out a deep sigh. Choice C is very likely.

“Mary Alice, aren’t you thirty-four,” Iris asked.

“...Um, yes, ma’am,” Mary answered with all the uncertainty of a little girl in school.

Iris chuckled. Not good.

“Child, you weren’t even done with puberty yet when that big lug was everywhere. He’s been eligible since _I_ was thirty-four and still is to this day.” Iris looked very good for a fifty-four year old, by the way.

Ayomide interjects, “That’s not gonna stop her from chasing him when we get there!”

Marylou kept making her sounds of indignation and kept repeating that she won’t and that he’s not _that_ attractive. Which is a big fat lie coming from Marylou.

I finally had a chance to speak. In true form, I started brushing stuff off immediately, “Alright, alright, now that we’re done bullying poor Mary...Can someone tell me -- UNBAISEDLY -- what is so great about this Bruce Wayne?”

I could honestly feel my tongue burning from that lie.

“Well, he fulfills certain archetypes that most women dream about. Y’know, _Fifty Shades of Grey?_ Other than that, he’s pretty known as a pretty nice boss and actually cares about his employees. Other than that, dude’s pretty much a social pariah outside of the public eye,” Ayomide says dully.

Continuing my charade, I looked perplexed when she said social pariah. I knew Bruce’s whole persona changed with what happened to Jason, but I did not know it actually bled over to his public persona.

Marylou quickly interrupted Ayomide. “Well, he’s also kinda known for his love-em-or-leave-em attitude. I know a lot of really famous models talk about how he’s super aloof. However, I reckon that’s what makes him sexy to people?”

“People like you, Mary Alice,” Iris said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Once again, sounds of indignation and denial came out of Marylou.

I don’t exactly remember how the rest of the conversation went, but I remember just putting on my mask of just complete ignorance as they kept chattering on and on about their knowledge of Bruce Wayne. I laughed with them as they teased Marylou once more, but this time talking about how she _might_ get lucky at the gala he’s hosting.

I felt my laugh turning artificial as they kept on this subject. I felt the pang of jealousy actually fill my heart for the first time in years. _Oh my God, Selina, get a grip_ , I kept repeating to myself as I felt that ugly feeling start to consume me.

_Why are you jealous of this girl? Do you feel like you have a chance again? Do you feel like Bruce has been waiting for your return like some dutiful husband? I thought you said you were over him?_ These were the thoughts that just kept racing through my head for the rest of the day.

The burning hatred that I felt in my heart at that moment for Marylou was the same hatred I used to have when I would see other women draped over Bruce at events. I am not a dumb 25-year-old girl. I am a grown ass woman.  I repeat that, over and over. Maybe it’ll sink in.

I’m a grown ass woman who wants to break someone’s face over an ex. God help me and us all.

\---------

That night at home, I had felt an episode come on.

Not a depressive episode that I am so accustomed to, but _those_ types of episodes. An episode where Selina reflects on Selina and her sense of self.

On today’s episode, Selina realizes that going back is going to be awful for her mental health and just overall wellbeing. Also, see how she reacts at the idea of reuniting with an old flame! Tune in for more!

God, that’s awful.

After washing off the grime of the day, I found myself in an old ratty t-shirt with no pants, sitting on the living room floor as I watch the tiny Black Mollys floats aimlessly in a tank that is much too big for them.

The only sounds in the house are the hum of the aquarium filter and the dull _mmmmm_ sound of the refrigerator in the kitchen. They calmed me, but they began to stir something in me.

Something that I only felt when I was young: the feeling of restlessness. Why was I feeling like a child again? _Why?_

I felt so possessive of him. _Stop._ Just the idea of Marylou putting her hands on him! _Oh my God, Selina. STOP IT._ The idea of being replaced by something shiny and new! _You haven’t even seen him in years_! I wouldn’t let it happen. Not like that.

I felt my hands shaking as my eyes fluttered back open. My heart was racing like I was running from something. I felt that darkness consume me again and I felt like _she_ was trying to come out.

Bed seemed like a pretty good option. I needed to rest. I needed to be cocooned until the morning would come again. I needed to erase what I was feeling.

I thought sleep would help. Oh, I was wrong.


End file.
